


Gonna Wait Around for the Sea to Get Full

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Job Gone Awry, Community: wrestlingkink, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Past Sexual Trauma/Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 01:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman meant to wake his boy up with an easy, sleepy blowjob, not to wake up all of Dean's bad memories too.  </p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=337687#cmt337687">this prompt </a> at the ever-delightful <a href="http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org"> wrestling kinkmeme</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Wait Around for the Sea to Get Full

It was a luxury to wake to soft sunlight instead of a tinny phone alarm and an even rarer treat to be able to do it in one of their own beds. So, when Roman first stirred on the soft sheets - and remembered that they were Dean's, that it was Wednesday morning, that they didn't have anywhere to be until a weekend convention panel, that there was no way for Seth to cross their path and shatter their peace in the meantime - he made up his mind to savor it. He turned onto his side to look at Dean, stretched out next to him on his back, face tipped toward him, lax and tranquil against the red-orange pillowcase. The warm late-morning light caught gold and red on the couple days' scruff on his cheeks and the long sweep of his eyelashes, and Roman just kept still and watched him breathe for a while, entertaining himself by imagining what Dean would say if he were awake and aware of the scrutiny.

They'd stumbled in just before dawn, too beat from _Smackdown_ and the red-eye into McCarran to do much more than run through the half-price version of the nickel tour of Dean's place before they'd shucked out of their clothes and fallen into bed.

Dean's apartment was homier than he'd expected. Not that Roman had really thought his boy lived on a rumpled futon, with nothing but a fridge full of cheap beer and a collection of bootlegged wrestling matches on VHS - not anymore, at least; there had definitely been a time when he'd believed that, along with all the rest of Dean's smokescreen and bluster, but that had been a long time past, and in his defense, at least one of the sturdy cedar cabinets in the living room _was_ actually full of tapes – but he hadn't expected the airy kitchen or the matching overstuffed couch and chairs in the living room or the finished guest room where he'd started to stash his bags until Dean had rolled his tired eyes and pushed him through the door of his own room instead.

He nestled into his pillow and thought about the day in front of them. Maybe in a little while, he would crawl out from under the covers and take inventory of the food in that unexpectedly big kitchen and cook them up a greasy breakfast if Dean had the fixings. He might investigate those cabinets on either side of the TV and scrounge them up something to watch, curled together lazy on the sofa. Could be he'd let himself be talked onto a mountain bike later.

For now, he just moved closer to Dean, resisting the urge to touch his face, instead letting his hand stroke over the definition of his stomach, warm and firm under his fingers, rising and falling with his easy breaths. His skin was dusted with the fine hair he'd stopped waxing again, growing back in a tempting trail toward his navel down to where it disappeared below the edge of the rust-colored sheet bunched low around his hips.

Roman remembered dimly that Dean had stripped down completely before crawling into bed, a thrill of bare skin against his chest and under his hands in the moments between trading lazy kisses and being pulled under the surface of sleep, and he got a few more ideas how they might spend what was left of the morning.

He shifted again, closer to Dean and lower on the mattress, and let his hand fit to the notches and angles of Dean's hip while he leaned in to press a light kiss to his sternum. His hair was loose and he guessed it might tickle where it spilled over his shoulder and onto Dean's skin, but Dean hadn't seemed to mind that any of the other times they'd fooled around. Dean squirmed and made a soft noise at the back of his throat, but then he stilled and his breathing settled back into its steady rhythm.

Roman smiled against his skin and started mouthing a soft, steady path down his belly, wondering idly how far he could go before Dean woke. A little further yet, it turned out, and he felt the heat pooling in his own gut as he tuned in to Dean's body, alert for all its responses to his touch: little shifts and hitches in his breathing, his lax fingers curling in the empty air at his side, his skin flushing warmer the more of it Roman mapped with kisses.

When his lips reached the hand-span of soft skin below his navel, Roman slipped the edge of the sheet lower to expose Dean's cock, already beginning to stiffen with interest, even as the rest of him hadn't quite surfaced from sleep yet. It maybe would have been kinder to let Dean rest, with as hard as he'd been fighting lately and as rarely as he slept sound, but Roman figured he could make it worth his while now, and watch over him while he slept it off later.

He lowered his mouth to the crease of Dean's hip, sucking a slow, wet kiss to the salty skin there, wetting his lips in anticipation of wrapping them around Dean's half-hard cock. He heard Dean's even breathing shatter with a sharp gasp and smiled again as Dean's hips gave a startled jerk beneath him.

Except, the raw noise that clawed its way out of Dean's chest wasn't one of eagerness or pleasure and the hands that swung to life were striking at his face and jerking on his hair and before he had really registered what was happening, he and Dean were both in the floor, the rumpled bed occupying the gulf between them.

Dean scrabbled blindly back across the carpet, breath coming fast and shallow, eyes clearly seeing more than that moment in that room as he cast a hunted gaze around him.    

“Dean?” he asked cautiously.

"Fuck." Dean breathed out, harsh and wet, and scrubbed a hand down his face. "You all right?" he asked, grey-faced as he looked out from the corner where he'd settled, crouched and primed for a fight.

"Feel like I should be the one asking you that." Really, his cheek was throbbing in the way that told him he'd have a bruise by tomorrow - Dean had cracked him a good one - but that hurt less than looking over at his boy all hunched and shaken and drawn tight, and knowing that he was the one who'd made him look that way. "I'm fine," he added, when Dean just kept uneasy eyes trained on him.

Dean relaxed at that, only a little, but visible in the tension leaking out of the lines of his body as he nodded absently and shifted forward to step back into the jeans he'd kicked off on the way in to bed. He straightened and rolled out his shoulders in a familiar shimmy, and came around the foot of the bed to offer Roman a hand up from the floor.

He took it, though he didn't really need the boost, and rose back to his feet. When Dean didn't draw away, he tipped forward to wrap an arm around him and pull him in close, Dean's skin clammy with cold sweat everywhere it pressed against his own. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do that," Dean grumbled and butted their heads together, not hard enough to hurt either of them. "Not made of glass, and you ain't gonna be the one to break me."

"Not if I can help it," he agreed, and tipped his head up to kiss a promise into Dean's hair.

Dean groaned out an exaggerated sound of disgust, even as he leaned into Roman's body, close enough for Roman to feel the heavy _thud_ of his heart under his skin. “Get back in bed, you fucking sap,” he said, and gave him a little shove, easier and more deliberate than a minute before.

Roman let himself go with it, sprawling across the bed in his boxers and chuckling at the unashamed way Dean's eyes roamed over him before he let himself be tugged down over him by their still joined hands. Dean's weight pressed him down into the mattress, stealing his breath away as his boy's body just sort of melted over his own, Dean's face tucking into his neck with a scrape of stubble and a shuddery breath against his skin and his unsteady fingers weaving gently into his hair where it'd been yanked before.

It was nice, especially once Dean's hands quit shaking, but not the kind of thing Dean usually sat still for. More the kind of thing that Dean would usually have teased him mercilessly for offering, really.  He wrapped his arms around him to hold him in place for as long as he'd stay.  

“You good?” he asked after a little while, rubbing one hand in slow circles down the hollow of Dean's spine.

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed eloquently before he shifted, tucking himself under Roman's arm to press along his side instead of flush on top of him.

“I didn't mean to press your buttons,” he started, and regretted it almost instantly when Dean's whole posture tightened up against him. “Not those ones, anyway. Wanted to make you feel good.” He was pretty sure Dean knew that these days, but he didn't know how else to get at what had happened instead.

“You do,” Dean said softly, words made quieter still by the way they were muffled against the inked skin on Roman's chest. “Trust me,” he said, louder, craning his face up so that Roman couldn't miss his leer, “I am totally on board the you-sucking-me-off-train. We should definitely take a mulligan on that one later.”

It hadn't felt like a good idea that deserved a do-over to Roman, what with Dean panicked and rattled at the touch of his mouth, and his doubt must have shown on his face, because Dean's expression sobered before he settled his head back against Roman's shoulder.

“You startled me is all,” Dean picked up again, fingertips fidgeting with the elastic of Roman's boxers where they rode over his hip. “Not the first time I woke up with somebody on my dick.” Roman took the little twitch he gave against him as a shrug. “Before, wasn't anybody I'd have wanted there if they'd asked for my opinion about it."

Roman sucked in a sharp breath and tightened his arm around Dean.  It was one thing to know in a kind of background way that Dean had had a rough time as a kid, lived hard before he clawed his way into the company, and something else altogether to hear him talk so matter-of-factly about being used while Roman could feel his heart pounding rabbit-quick against his breastbone.  "Dean-"

"And don't you fucking dare apologize for shit that other people did before you ever knew I was alive.” He jabbed a couple of fingers into Roman's ribs for emphasis.

The _I'm sorry_ on his lips was sympathy, not apology, but he didn't figure Dean was interested in arguing the finer points of that distinction, so settled for pressing a kiss into his hair instead. Dean heard the words he'd swallowed anyway and snorted at him, fed up but fond, and pinched lightly at the skin above his hip.

“I lived to tell the tale, and now I'm here, and I got somebody I want. You don't want to hear about that other shit.”

What Roman really wanted was for none of it to have happened - to have been around to stop anyone from taking advantage of his brother or, failing that, to break everyone who'd dared put a hand on him – but he knew Dean wouldn't want to hear that.

“I want to hear anything you need to talk about. Listen to whatever you've got to say,” he said instead, closing his fingers around Dean's wrist to block him from retaliating for the soft words.

Dean groaned and kicked lightly at his ankle. “Listen close, then, 'cause I'm gonna tell you what I need today,” he said, and threw a leg over Roman's hip, relaxing into his hold again, the scruff on his cheek scratching against Roman's chest as he settled in and expanded on his theme. “Not necessarily in this order: Waffles. Bacon. A hot shower. To sit on my ass in front of the Reds game. A cold beer or five. That blowjob.”

“Sounds like a hell of a to-do list,” he said, letting go of Dean's wrist to rub easy along the arm slung around his middle.

“Good thing somebody woke me up early, then, huh?” Dean said, not actually moving yet to get cracking on their new itinerary. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”  He rested his cheek on Dean's hair and felt them both drifting back toward sleep. "Every time."


End file.
